


Right Now

by anzoonza



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 04, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-13 16:49:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10517847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anzoonza/pseuds/anzoonza
Summary: “I want to be someone's right now, Simon, not their happily ever after.” - Rainbow RowellAlternate Season 4 that ignores pretty much everything but Bellarke (sorta). Yay!





	1. Attraction

**Author's Note:**

> Story contains drug use, swearing, adult situations, etc. You've been warned. ;)

_Right Now: Attraction_

 

It’s a difficult thing to trust a lying bitch. Bellamy certainly doesn’t. Neither does Raven. Even Clarke has her doubts.

It just seems so unlikely that no one would know.

So it’s easy when Bellamy tells her not to say anything.

Instead, they do what they can for the people in Polis, let Kane and Octavia stay as representatives of the 13th clan and take their people back to the Ark. There, they come up with a plan --- don’t tell anyone about what Alie said until they know for sure and fight like hell to rebuild.

Raven kicks off the first part by giving them a thumb drive.

“What is this?” Clarke asks.

“History of the world before Alie,” Raven says. “Figure you’re going to need to know how many nuclear reactors there are before anything else, right?”

Bellamy plucks the thumb drive from Raven’s fingers, “got it.”

Less than a day later, Bellamy hands her a sheet, "there are 17 sites we need to check."

"How did you---?" Clarke looks up at Bellamy, “wait, you're actually a nerd? I thought that was just Octavia---"

"Studying history doesn’t make you a nerd. It makes you a better person. Better soldier, better leader, better . . .”

“Right,” Clarke says, smiling. “Better nerd.”

“There are 17 nuclear reactors in the world. If any one of them goes it's a problem. We need to get this to Raven."

They bring the information to Raven and before they can ask how to look into the sites without alarming anyone, Raven is giving them to the survey group who are cataloging possible living areas by studying the data still being sent from the remains of the Ark in space. The survey group says thanks and will let them know if there’s anything in those areas. It’s that easy.

“Now it’s wait and see,” Raven says.

Clarke sighs. Bellamy smiles at her, “don’t tell me you want a nuclear apocalypse?”

“I didn’t mean---”

“Yeah, you did,” Raven smiles. “But we love you anyway.” There’s a crackling noise and Raven looks over her shoulder. “Yeah, let’s weld over that vent. It’s not like we need oxygen.”

Raven goes off as Bellamy squeezes Clarke’s shoulder, “we’ll keep a close eye on it.”

“Alright.”

Bellamy's eyes linger on her, "it's not like it's the only thing we have to do. Take a look around, Clarke. There's plenty."

She does. They do. Everyone does.

It's not easy. There's a lot of regret, a lot of devastation. Lives were lost, crops abandoned and machines broken. It's slow-going and people are on edge, always waiting for the next danger to make itself known. 

But as the days go by, things get better. 

A week passes, then another and people remain safe. They return to their routines. Clarke works in medlab and consults with Kane on clan policy. Bellamy works with the guard to build houses, beef up security and the basic infrastructure of the camp. The "dropshippers" as they're known at the Ark have dinners together and actually get to know each other. 

Survey clears 3 of the 17 sections. Laughter at the camp becomes an everyday occurrence. The crops come in and there’s more food than they’ve ever had. With the tentative peace in the clans, Kane arranges for the first real trade between the grounders and the ark. It brings salt and spices and new clothing.

A month passes. Then a tree is budding flowers. A cherry blossom tree. Spring.

Seemingly that same night, half the camp falls in love. Monty and Harper announce they're building a cabin together. Kane visits, he and Abby walk hand-in-hand around the camp. Emori somehow manages to soften Murphy enough that even Raven has to admit he’s a decent guy these days. Nate and Miller, after a rough patch, announce their intention to marry. 

Each night, they watch as the sky turns a brilliant pink, then red, then lavender before night sets. People start calling it "the pink time". A month turns into a month and a half of peace. It feels like a lifetime. Like an eternity. The dream of the ground finally coming true. 

Clarke watches each sunset trying to see the beauty, the relief of it but she can't quite get there. She checks survey dutifully and reads what she can about the first apocalypse. Raven threatens to take the thumb drive when she catches Clarke. Bellamy takes to smoothing out the frown lines on her forehead, muttering ‘relax’.

One day he even gets mad at her about it. There's a grove of those cherry blossom trees that people are going to but Clarke decides not to go. “You need to learn to admit when things are good,” he says, storming off to join the group going to the grove.

The words ring in Clarke's ears all day. She eventually breaks down and tells Abby what Bellamy said. Her mother smooths her hair and gives her a sad smile. “You’ve fought so hard that it’s become all you know. Maybe it’s time to learn something new. Maybe it’s time to learn what joy can bring to life.”

Clarke sighs. She looks in the mirror: "Alie is a lying bitch. Things are good. Maybe . . . Maybe it’s time you learn what joy can bring to your life."

If only it were that easy.

“This is horrifying,” Pilot says, holding out his arm. He looks down his body, covered in red splotches and then back up at Clarke.

“It’s Poison Ivy.”

“A plant can do this?”

“Yes.”

“I hate the ground.”

Clarke doesn’t respond. She just continues to carefully dab the handmade paste along his arm where the red splotches and cuts are. As she reaches his elbow, Bellamy comes in.

It still throws her slightly when he appears uncut and clean. He looks so young. “You ready?”

“Almost.” Clarke says. She returns her focus to the arm while Bellamy comes up next to her.

“Nice,” Bellamy says to Pilot.

“It’s from a plant,” Pilot says in wonderment.

“Yeah, poison ivy,” Bellamy says, “what were you doing? Bathing in it?”

“Nah, I was ---” Pilot glances at Clarke and goes bright red.

“You might want to tell her to come in too,” Clarke says, dabbing the last part of his arm. “You’re good.”

Pilot teeters off as Clarke goes over to the clipboard and signs out. They walk out of medlab and down the hall.

“Can we check Survey?”

“Do you still need to ask?”

They walk over to survey, all of whom who look up with familiar smiles when they enter.

“Nothing new, Clarke,” the tech, Nikola, says. “Hey Bellamy.”

“Has G-47 been checked?”

“Yep, totally fine.”

Clarke looks at the map, noting how many new green squares there are, 11 of 17. “I just don’t understand,” she says under her breath.

Bellamy raises his fingers in warning and she knows she’s frowning. Clarke clears her expression and then smiles at the survey members. “Thanks.”

They walk out and Bellamy says lightly. “Alie manipulated people. If she told the truth, do you think so many people would have signed up for the City of Light?”

Clarke forces herself to say the next words, “then that would be good, wouldn’t it? To know we’re safe?”

“That’s the spirit. Come on, we’re late.”

By the time they arrive, everyone else is there. Jasper and Monty have what appears to be several jugs of some sort of green-colored juice that they’re still mixing. Miller and Nate are supervising while Raven and Harper sit chatting.

“What is that?” Clarke says in a grimace as they sit.

“Seaweed Gummy Bear Punch,” Jasper says.

“The operative word being weed,” Monty adds.

“Or Gummy,” Jasper says loudly, glancing around as if they’re about to be caught. “But really it’s weed,” he says conspiratorially.

“Shouldn’t the important word be punch?” Nate says.

“That’s just it’s physical form,” Monty says. “Right now at least.”

“Right now?” Nate asks.

Monty gives him a devious look.

“I’m not drinking that,” Clarke says. “Anyone want actual beer?”

Miller, Raven and Bellamy raise their hands. Clarke heads off to the bar over a litany of protests from Monty and Jasper that the punch is almost ready.

“She still stuck on the nuclear apocalypse?” Miller says as Bellamy sits next to him. About a week ago, Miller and Monty, always astute, had asked why Clarke kept going to survey. They had filled them in only to be met with an eye-roll.

“She just wants to be sure,” Bellamy responds.

“Can’t say I blame her,” Raven says. “It’d be a shame to get down here only to blow up again.”

“Not this again!” Jasper rolls his eyes. “It’s fine. We’re fine. Apart from the horrible mental trauma and all the dead people. We need to focus on what matters.”

“Seaweed Gummy Bear Punch?” Harper asks.

“There’s someone who gets it,” Jasper says. “You chose well, Monty.”

Clarke listens to the conversation going on behind her, trying to shake off the part about mental trauma and dead people. But when the bartender goes to give her the pitcher, she doesn’t hear him.

“I got it.”

There’s a brush of her arm and there’s Bellamy, taking the pitcher. He gives her a significant look and she blinks back into the present. She grabs several glasses and follows him back to the table.

Bellamy sits close next to her, his arm going around the back of her chair. “No way are we drinking that punch,” he mumbles into her ear.

She knows what he’s doing and she’s grateful. Slowly, Clarke comes out of her thoughts and joins the conversation. Bellamy doesn’t move his hand and she finds herself leaning against his arm through the first pitcher, then the second. He only moves it when they decide to play some sort of game Raven has come up with.

The punch finally has its debut. To everyone’s surprise, it’s actually pretty good. Clarke and the others down three glasses as they walk out to a small green field that’s become their unofficial hang-out spot of late.

Raven and Clarke begin trying to remember the lyrics to the station pledge song. Nate shows Miller and Bellamy some hit a grounder made on him.  Jasper, Monty and Harper sit to discuss how to improve Weed Super Punch Bear.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Raven says, twirling around before she falls down. “Ow. I hate being semi-paralyzed. And drunk. No. Correction. I don't hate either. I hate . . . what were we talking about? Right. You."

“Me?” Clarke says, joining her on the ground.

“And the very obvious, very handsome, very much in love with you elephant in the room. Ground."

“I have an elephant?”

Raven nods and points over to Bellamy who is bent over laughing as Miller is holding Nate’s leg in the air. “Exhibit A.”

Clarke shakes her head, refusing to have this conversation. “Do you remember the song---”

“You can get laid right now,” Raven says. “Why aren’t you?”

Clarke falters, her eyes reflexively going to Bellamy and then coming back to Raven.

"It's just. Things are pretty great right now. But even somehow they're not and we are all about to die, wouldn't you still want to finally get that?"

"I'm not . . ." Clarke shifts uncomfortably. When her eyes go to Bellamy he glances her way. "It's . . ."

"Yeah. It is," Raven says. "It has been for a lonnnng time."

“Let’s go to the pond,” Jasper says abruptly. “Has anyone ever seen the sun rise over a pond? A POND?”

“No!” Monty says, clearly on board. "We should!"

“Oh, we’re going,” Jasper says.

“It’s past the wall--” Clarke says. “And we’re drunk.”

“Live your life, Clarke!” Jasper says.

In the end, no one can resist Jasper and Monty. After all, there are no less than 4 guards present, the pond is nowhere near another klan’s property and it’s already late at night. So they grab food, what’s left of the punch, a jug of water, some blankets and head to the pond. By the time they’re there, the first streaks of an inky-grey dawn are in the sky. 

They set up what they can of a picnic. Jasper and Miller get in some sort of betting war about who will go in the water which somehow ends up with them both running in in their underwear. Raven, Harper, Nate and Monty follow. Clarke holds back, happy to sit and watch. Bellamy does the same and sits next to her.

“I wish Octavia was here,” he says softly as they watch Jasper splash Nate. “She would have loved this.”

Clarke looks over at him. He’s sitting with his knees up, arms folded across them. She moves her hand and rests it on his arm. “She’s doing what makes her happy.” When he doesn’t respond, she adds, “and she’s not far.”

He takes a breath, “what if she gets in over her head?”

“Then she’ll do what she did all the other times she got in over her head ---”

Bellamy gives her a wry look and then shakes his head. A moment later he asks, “you wanna go in the water?”

“And freeze to death?” Clarke shakes her head. “I’m fine here. But you should go.”

Bellamy doesn’t move. Clarke tries not to read into that but it’s just there, like he is. Like he always is.

“You okay?” He asks.

“It’s getting cold,” she says.

He throws an arm around her, bringing her in so they can share body heat. It's platonic, practical, but she can't help but think of the picture it makes of them. How nice it must look.

A little while later, Raven finds a frog and throws it at Miller. Miller dances around, more spooked than they've ever seen him. Jasper falls over laughing, taking Raven and Monty down with him into the shallow water. Clarke looks over at Bellamy as his face crinkles into a wide smile. He looks over at her and she feels her heart constrict in her chest. She wants to stay here. Right here. For the rest of her life.

It breaks something inside her, she can almost hear it. Like the sharp snap of a dandelion stalk. _Okay, she thinks, it’s okay. You can admit it. You can admit it. Just admit it. It’s okay to admit it. Aren’t you already? Isn’t this admitting it?_

The smile fades from Bellamy’s face and then he’s just looking at her, really looking at her. “Clarke?”

She hears loud splashing and looks over to see everyone coming out of the water. When she glances back at Bellamy, he lingers on her face a moment longer and then they both turn towards their friends.

By the time the sun rises they’re cold and starting to feel dull from the punch and alcohol. They walk quietly back, Raven and Clarke in the back. “I don’t get it, when did you become a pussy?”

“Raven!”

“Clarke, you’ve fought wars, you’ve screwed queens, and you can’t make a move on Bellamy? I made a move on Bellamy.”

“Could you not, he’s right---” Clarke swallows. “Also, gross.”

“See, there! How can you---”

Clarke swallows, making sure Bellamy is not looking their way. “Okay. I admit it."

“Wait -- did you just---" Raven stops. "Holy hell, you want Bellamy.”

“Raven--" Clarke warns under her breath. 

Raven stops, her eyes going wide just before a large smile takes over her face. “Well now we’re getting somewhere. Okay, I have a plan.”

“What?”

“To get this thing going.”

“Raven---”

“Clarke, do not take this from me. I’m thinking about taking Jasper home with me.”

Clarke fights back a smile, “Jasper’s a great guy.”

“He’s a man boy. Besides, I’d rather ship you two.”

“Ship?” Clarke says. She takes a breath, trying to remember what she felt on the beach, trying to let it block every other thing out. “Okay, tell me what you got.”

* * *

_(sometime earlier)_

* * *

He could tell Clarke was getting restless. He could also tell that she was not going to move until he was. It meant he had to move. It meant it was time to go back. He rolled his head over to hers, “we’ll need to take the guns. If we can’t manage anything else, we can come back for the blankets.”

She nodded, “first I need to check that cut.”

Clarke hopped up and walked over to where her backpack had been thrown in the fight. She grabbed it and came back over, kneeling down in front of him. She pulled a piece of cloth from her pack and handed him it with the canteen, “here, use this to clean off.”

He dabbed the cloth and put it to his face, shocked when it came back dark red in seconds. He tilted forward and ran the canteen over his face and then swiped, feeling a noticeable sting across his cheek and forehead.

“Do we have rules?” Clarke said, moving into his space. She pressed something against the cut on his cheek that made it burn.

“Rules for what?”

“The guns,” she said, tilting her face. “Not deep. That’s good.”

Bellamy studied her face, “yeah, same rules as the Ark. Only people doing guard. Only people who are trained. You make a mistake, you don’t get one again.”

“Okay,” Clarke said, moving to his forehead. He winced slightly as the cut was closer to his eye. “Another one though---”

“What’s that?”

She met his eye, “we don’t use them on each other. What happened with Murphy . . .”

“Don’t worry,” Bellamy said, feeling his resolve come back to him. “That won't happen again.”

He watched her consider for a moment and then she nodded, the corners of her lip turning upwards. “Usual cuts. Nothing to worry about.”

“Thanks, Doc---”

She made a dismissive noise and then rolled back and stood up, “come on, it’s getting late.”

An hour later they were walking back through the woods. Clarke was in front of him, trudging through the wood with an oversized bag on her shoulder. She had refused to even consider him carrying them all.

It had been a strange day. This morning, he was prepared to leave everything -- even Octavia -- out of fear. Then he came here. Then he was pretty sure he was drugged, which he’d have to figure out later. What he was positive about was that he was almost killed and that he had killed again. Through all of it was Clarke, and somehow that had been the craziest part of all.

His eyes flitted down the blonde hair, the curves of her body. If you would have told him a girl like her was possible, he would have laughed in your face. No one raised in privilege could be tough. No one who looked like her could seem to care less about it. No one on the ground could guarantee their survival. Yet, she was tough, and he knew their survival was largely dependent on her. Which he could have left there. Except earlier today, he had been ready to ask her to run away with him. And now, as they walked back, he had to admit that part of that was because he didn’t want to leave her. As if aware of his examination, she looked over her shoulder. She raised one of her eyebrows as if asking him ‘what?’ Bellamy grinned and she turned back.

 _Damnit,_ he thought _, I want the princess._


	2. First Kiss

_Right Now: First Kiss._

 

“Let’s go.”

“I’d have to check each door,” Clarke says. “On a very suspect report. For all we know Emerson’s only plan was the air-lock. This idea of some sort of trap ---”

“So?”

“It’s your day-off.”

“But you’re checking it. So let’s go.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, he moves forward to the first door. Clarke follows, dumbfounded. She goes to the door, but her attention is lost to the moment. Raven’s advice keeps rattling around in her head, and she’s just not sure of anything anymore with him.

“What’s the problem?”

“Nothing,” Clarke says, closing her eyes and clearing her thoughts.

For the next hour, she’s almost mechanical. Bellamy, on the other hand, is completely unphased. He talks about cadets and security and Octavia and plans, in the chatty open way he is when it’s just them. Which is another thing. There’s this level of comfort between them that’s just so natural. Like Wells. It stops her cold in her tracks -- is Bellamy her best friend?

Clarke is lost to the thought until they hear an odd click.

Immediately he’s in front of her, “stay behind me.”

Clarke watches as he carefully checks the room and then the door. The click goes again and they are barely tense before they realize it’s one of the ducts.

“I’ll check it anyway,” Bellamy says and goes to the door. “Stay here.”

He takes up his usual crouch and she wonders how exactly a gun will help this situation but that’s just Bellamy. But then she worries -- how exactly will a gun help this situation? “It’s not a reaper, Bellamy. Be careful!”

He makes some sort of rolling-eye dismissive noise but it still puts her on edge. She watches him closely as he moves all the way to the back. He looks down and then turns around with a smile, “didn’t Raven say she needed a window generator?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a broken one back here. What sector are we in?”

“CS-4,” Clarke says.

As Bellamy walkies Raven, Raven’s advice goes through her head. _Get him talking about sex. Trust me, you two are so wired to combust right now it should happen pretty quickly after that._

Bellamy comes up, “next door?”

“Why don’t you have a---” No, more specific she thinks. “Everyone around us is going at it like bunnies but you---” Clarke can’t believe it’s this difficult. It’s Bellamy. They talk about everything. “I know you have options, and . . .” There’s no way she’s saying needs.

He tilts his head, “why aren’t you?”

“I---” She wasn’t prepared for this. Why wasn’t she prepared for this? “You know me. I’m not any fun.”

“You’re fun.”

“You didn’t used to think so.”

“I changed my mind,” his head tilts to the other side. “Why aren’t you?”

“I---” Clarke flinches, “you didn’t answer my question.”

Bellamy looks at her for a long moment and then just moves to push past her, “last I checked I didn’t owe you any of my business.”

Clarke knows that he’s given her the perfect out from their very awkward conversation. And for a moment she considers taking it. The truth is she still mourns Lexa. But she also mourns Finn. And Wells. And all the other people she loved. But she can’t help but think about Raven’s advice, and how this conversation already makes her feel like she’s at the edge of a precipice. How it makes her feel alive. “Not an answer but okay.”

“Come on Clarke, this isn’t us,” Bellamy just goes to a door, pressing the buttons. It makes the same noise all of the others have.

“What isn’t us?”

He turns and then turns back, putting his gun down against the frame. “Fine. You want it spelled out? Everyone thinks it’s peacetime but we both know peace doesn’t exist. There’s always danger. And not just what’s to come but with what’s happened.”

“So---?”

“So Octavia is right, we’ll never be truly safe here. Not after what we’ve done.”

“How does this have to do with---”

“Everyone thinks we’re together,” Bellamy says flatly. “So if they want to mess with you, they know they’ll have to mess with me. And vice versa. There’s value to that.”

Any other thought goes out the window. “So you’re not--- because you want people to believe the gossip---”

Bellamy just shrugs. “People have been talking about us since the dropship. We might as well use it to our advantage.” After a moment, his brow furrows. “What?”

“Bellamy, you can’t give up something like that for me!”

“I can.”

“No, you can’t. For one, I can handle myself. For two, you should have talked it over with me before --”

“Right,” Bellamy looks up at the ceiling with a smirk. “Because this conversation is going so well . . .”

Clarke takes a breath and looks up at Bellamy. She can’t believe he would ever do something so stupid and unnecessary. But . . . but then she thinks about some of the looks she gets, even from Jasper. And maybe, maybe it’s not so unnecessary. A swell of affection hits her.  

She takes a breath. It feels like she’s about to run into battle because she’s going to do this. She’s actually going to do this. “Why is it just talk?”

Bellamy’s neck snaps down, “don’t mess with me, Clarke. It’s not a big deal.”

“I’m not.”

Bellamy goes to move away but Clarke grabs the sleeve of his jacket and steps into his space. He doesn’t move but when he turns his head back, his head tips down and when he looks at her, she watches his pupils dilate slightly.

“I’m not.”

“This isn’t you.”

“Wanting sex?”

She watches tiny parts of his expression change. His teeth chew slightly at his lips, his eyes dart clinically across her. “Is that what this would be then? Just sex?”

She gives him a look that she hopes is flirtatious.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“What?”

“Just answer it,” he says, as if he’s angry by something.

Clarke hits his arm, all sense of flirtation gone, “I’m not chipped!”

“You just asked me to have sex with you, Clarke,” Bellamy says. “Humor me.”

“Blue,” she says.

He grimaces, “everyone’s favorite color is blue.” But then his eyes are on her again and she sees the heat there, the want, “and you’re sure that you want this?”

“Yes,” Clarke says.

“Just sex?”

Clarke nods. She’s not sure how this agreement came into the mix but she likes it. There’s something safe about it. Like before it was “just-not-sex” and now it’s going to be “just-sex” because if she thinks any more about how complex this is, it’ll be really overwhelming.

“So… what? Like now?”

“We’re in cold storage,” she says. “Not exactly---” She stops when she realizes she is about to say romantic. A flash of panic comes at this. “Kiss me.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow and grins widely, “has anyone ever told you you’re terrible at this, Princess?”

Clarke swallows but then she sees that his fingers are slightly shaking. He’s nervous.

She raises her hands to the edge of his jacket and tugs his face down to hers. Without preamble, she presses her lips against his. For a moment, they’re both still. His lips are soft, slightly chapped. And even though her eyes are closed, she knows it’s him. There’s just so much tactile proof. The height above her, the rough canvas feel of the jacket he all but lives in, the smell of woods and sweat. Behind all of that, that sense of security she never feels until when she’s with him.

It’s a heady feeling and unbidden, her lips move against his. It must spark something in him because in a second, the kiss moves from small and tentative to live and wild. Bellamy’s hands go to her hips, pulling her to him and the kiss deepens.

They stumble slightly, refusing to remove their lips from another even as the difference in their heights becomes unwieldy. Clarke is just about to pull away when she feels his hands tighten. He picks her up and she gasps slightly. One kiss becomes another, then another, then another. Breathlessly he turns her until the backs of her legs hit a crate. He puts her down and steps into the space between her legs.

It’s too much, too quickly, but she can’t bring herself to stop. It just feels too good. She links her hands around his neck, her fingers going into his hair.

Bellamy’s hands move to her face, cupping it as he guides their mouths in a reverent, passionate kiss. It sets Clarke over. She feels lost all of a sudden; caught up in a tidal wave and desperate for something to hold onto. She pulls back, taking a labored breath. “So I’m terrible at this?”

He blinks, “the . . . the worst.”

Clarke studies him, noting the pink flush against the cheeks, the messy hair, the swollen lips. Bellamy leans in, his eyes open, and pecks her lips. He’s saying something with it. She knows he is. But she’s not ready for anything more at the moment. So Clarke chases his lips when he pulls back and they begin to kiss again. It’s more controlled this time, they linger and let it build. She hooks her heel around his calf and his lips move to her cheek, her ear and then to her neck.

“Jesus Clarke,” he mutters in a voice that can only be described as wrecked as his lips move to where her collar bone meets her neck.

Clarke nods into him, knowing the feeling. Whatever’s happening, wherever they’ve gone with this, they’ve gone together. And she’s not sure either will ever come back.


	3. First Date

First Date

They finally disentangle when they hear Raven coming down the corridor. He goes to say something, but then Clarke is running her sleeve against her mouth and tousling her hair in her fingers. Bellamy could care less if Raven sees them like this. All he cares about is what this is. “Cla---”

“Not now,” she says, just as Raven enters.

“Show me that gen ---” Raven stops, “what’s going on?”

Bellamy can’t help but glance at Clarke who looks rather shell-shocked. Bellamy looks back at Raven. “Uh, nothing. Generator is over here.”

“I have lab,” Clarke says. She turns and walks away. He refuses to think the word ‘flee’ but he’s almost positive Clarke does not have lab right now.  When he looks back, Raven is studying him, a knowing grin on her face.

“Don’t---” Bellamy warns. 

“Don’t what?” Raven says innocently. 

Bellamy just moves forward, still feeling the kiss -- make-out - whatever the hell just happened all throughout him. He helps Raven take the generator back. At Raven’s lab, he talks to Monty and Harper which ends up with them all at mess. The world continues on but Bellamy barely functions.

It’s not until he’s in his bunk does he attempt any form of real thought about it. Even then, it’s a struggle. He’s known since his early days on the ground that he wanted Clarke. But he’s also known there was a snowball’s chance in hell of anything ever happening with Clarke. There hasn’t even been a moment between them until today. And now . . .

He wants to know exactly. The whole story. Preferably in written text, so he can understand how it happened. What Clarke thought, what Clarke felt, when, why, where, how. All of it. Because he cannot make sense of it.

Which is rough because he is never going to ask her. He has some pride.  

So all that’s left is for him to do whatever he can so that it happens again, that it keeps happening. 

He jumps up from his bunk and pulls out the cleaning kit for his gun. With his hands busy, he goes through the events until one particular thought makes him stop -- hadn’t they agreed this was going to be a regular thing? Just sex? So he could just show up at her pod if . . .

But again -- pride. And it’s Clarke. He couldn’t. He remembers the art supply whatever with Finn and Lexa’s whole damn grounder army and palace. Not that he’s a Finn or Lexa to her. He knows he’s not. He knows he won’t ever be. He’s Bellamy. She’s Clarke.

Still, he can do it right. Which means he needs a date. A set time and place where they can be together. Something romantic.

He’s never done romantic before. He doesn’t even really know what that looks like. He sighs -- maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. What if he can’t? What if --- 

“Damnit.”

Bellamy stands up, cleans his hands with a rag and storms out of his bunk. He’s going straight over to her pod and keeping this thing going. Because he’s not going to give it up. No matter what he has to do for it.

He’s so focused that he nearly runs straight into Clarke.

“Hey--” She says.

“Clarke? What are you---?”

“Some scouts are coming back. I wanted to update my map.”

“Right,” he says. 

There’s a moment of quiet as both look at each other and each other’s lips. He wants to kiss her. He really wants to kiss her. 

“If that’s it---” She finally says, moving to go around him.

“Fish,” he says. 

Clarke raises an eyebrow. It’s the most painfully awkward moment of his life.

“I need to go fishing tomorrow. Do you want to come?”

Nothing about this is romantic. So when Clarke doesn’t respond, he gets it. She’s always been merciful. 

He should walk away. Try and save his pride. But he can’t. God, he wants to kiss her. “Do you?”

“I have a shift,” she says. 

The world drops out from underneath him at the rejection. He can almost hear ringing in his ears. How could he have been so wrong? I mean, they had full-on made-out in cold storage. She had kissed him first! Had it really been that bad for her? Had---

Clarke looks around and then mutters, “I only have a few minutes. I told Allamy I’d be there when they got back. Let’s go to Raven’s Gate.”

They’re just there when Clarke turns and is suddenly kissing him again. Bellamy recovers quickly. The kiss is more passionate, much better than their last, even when she pulls away too soon. “You’re too tall. Sit down.”

He smiles, sits down, and she follows. 

“I thought about you all day,” she says.

He nods, “know the feeling.”

Clarke smiles and leans in, “they cleared another 4 sectors. 15 down.” 

They smile at each other. One of the lights from the wall is framing her hair, lighting it up like a halo and he wishes he could take a picture of her like this. Instead, he kisses her. It’s chaste and simple until she tilts her head. His hand comes up to rest against her cheek and they fall back together.

When the gate alarm goes off, they break apart. Bellamy is arched over her, and she’s all shadows beneath him. “That’s them,” she says. “I have to go.”

“When can we ---?”

“Tomorrow night. After you’re back? My pod?”

“Yeah,” he says. 

She smiles and quickly pecks his nose, making him scrunch his face. With a laugh and press to his shoulder, she’s up, brushing an errant twig from her jacket. “Jasper has some sort of death wish and wants to explore grounder territory for better hops. Will you talk to him?”

“I’ll do more than talk if he risks the camp like that,” he says, sitting up.

Clarke gives him a knowing look and walks off. Bellamy takes a breath, watching her until she disappears from sight. He stands up and looks around, a stupid grin on his face.

So it wasn’t the best first date . . . Or even a date. But he has tomorrow, and the taste of her still in his mouth, and for a second, life is as good as it’s ever been for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: First Time.


	4. First time

_Right now: First time._

 

Over the next week and a half, things change in increments. She still believes the world’s about to end and he will never, never trust the grounders. They still go to their shifts, they still meet with their friends, he still misses Octavia and worries about her too much. But now there’s them too.

They meet up when they can, falling into a silent schedule of hidden meetups. It’s almost always at her pod, late in the night. But a few times, they’ve snuck to Raven’s Gate or a convenient quiet spot. When they do, they barely talk. They just go until they’re breathless or if someone stops them.

He blames himself for that. Three days after that first kiss, she drops to her knees. He pulls her back up. It’s not that he didn’t want that. He always wants that. It’s just . . .  It’s Clarke. He doesn’t need that from her. This, her, is enough. He doesn’t realize it could be thought of as a rejection until several hours later.

So the next time he can, he very deliberately puts his hands on her hips and moves down, only for her to shift and move away, muttering 'I think someone's coming.'

It takes them about four days to recover from those failures. He slips his hand into her panties and curls his finger in her. Her breathless gasp is met with his own when her hand goes to his pants. They bury their heads into each other's shoulder, both panting loudly until they quiet. It’s startling and for awhile, all they do is look at each other. They both know what’s next. Moreso, they know what they’ve already done.

It’s not just sex. He knows that. It is not just sex.

They need to talk. He knows they need to talk. But the next night, there’s a thunderstorm and he makes up some sort of excuse to be at Clarke’s. Which is where he is when the power goes out and the pods lock down.

They turn only a few torches before they’re watching each other. He sits on the couch and she follows. “It’ll take at least three hours before power’s back on,” Bellamy says.

“If they even bother with it tonight . . .”

It is not just sex. He knows that. But whatever it is, it’s going to happen tonight. He can feel it. They move towards each other.

He loves this. Seeing her move to him, seeing her eyes go wide as her face tilts to press to his. She likes him over her on the couch as much as he does so they move that way.

The rain picks up outside, pattering softly against the window as they kiss. She unzips his coat and he shucks it off. He takes out the pins at the top of her hair and pockets it (she nearly hit him the one time he tossed one) and she shakes out her hair.

It’s natural, intimate. They move slowly, enjoying themselves. Clarke can be frantic and he can be intense. That’s there with them. But sometimes it’s this. And it’s this that he finds himself thinking about, wanting it more than even Octavia coming home. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, shifting underneath him. “My pants are---”

He removes his lips from her shoulder and looks down to see a line of light green silk and then gray pants awkwardly pulled down on only one side of her legs.

“Yeah,” he says. He rolls back and pulls off his beige skirt which is hanging around his neck. He tosses it to the side. Clarke lifts her hips and he tugs the pants down. She pulls up her waffle-knit shirt until it’s off.

“Wait, wait---” Bellamy says.

“What?”

“Where is this going?”

Clarke gives him a look, “you mean us?”

“Not that,” Bellamy says. About that though. He wants to know. But not tonight. “This. Tonight. What are we doing?”

“I thought we were---”

“We are, it’s just --- we keep getting -- but not---”

“Penetrating?” Clarke says without batting an eye.

There’s no way in hell Bellamy is using that word. “I just thought we might want to switch to your bed.”

Clarke gives him a funny expression, “this isn’t romantic enough for you?”

“I’m just---”

“Because I’m pretty sure you had plenty of sex in a tent.” She glances towards the window where the rain continues to fall. “At least we’re dry.”

Bellamy looks down, realizing he shouldn’t have said anything. But Clarke is already moving, lifting her legs and rolling to the side. She stands, grabbing his hand and tugging him through the room.

Bellamy follows, amused by a shirtless, pantless Clarke who has somehow managed to still exude all of the authority she ever has. Not to mention a scrap of green silk against her ass. That holds his interest just fine.

When they go into her bedroom, he can’t help but take a look around. Her beloved navy blue jacket is laying on a chair. There are a few pencil drawings, including one of Lexa and another of Wells. On the table by her bed is her father’s watch and a folded back book. Still the same as the last time he’s seen it except now it feels strange and foreign because ---

“My bed,” she mutters.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says in a voice he can’t recognize as his own, something forced casual but clearly muffled. He just can’t hide the significance of this, the emotions of it . . . For a moment, he wants to come clean. To tell Clarke it’s not just sex.

But Clarke speaks first. Her voice is soft, reassuring, intimate. “It means something to me too, you know?”

Her blonde hair hangs loosely at her back, her eyes wide, her shoulders bare except for the small bra straps. The thunder rolls and the rain at the window play shadows on her hair and it hits him, really hits him, that they’re together. At least for this moment. They’re real, truly together. It doesn’t need a definition past that.

“No, yeah, this is perfect,” he says, realizing a moment later she wasn’t asking him a question. It doesn’t matter.

He lifts a heavy hand and rests it on her shoulder before trailing it down, taking her bra strap in his palm so it drops to her arm as his hand does. Clarke puts her hands against his waist, gently squeezing the muscle there before they move to the waist of his pants.

He unhooks her bra as she unbuttons his pants. When those garments are gone, their lips move back to each other. Her hands make a map of his back while he presses kisses to her shoulder and then down to her breasts, marveling when the skin puckers.

“Are you cold?” He says, reflexively pulling her closer to him.

“No,” she says. “But I---”

Clarke steps back from him with a shy look. She pulls back the blanket on her bed and then looks back at him before she casually pushes off her underwear. Bellamy watches this, his heart heavy with desire and his breath short in his chest. Clarke is confident in her own skin, unbothered by her own nakedness. It's him who struggles.

It takes her moving his hands to his, tugging slightly, for him to come out of it. He stops them and then his fingers go to his own clothing. She helps and he removes the rest of his own clothing.

Their gazes stay on each other. 

“Bellamy,” she says. ‘Come here’ he hears.

“Clarke,” he says as he slowly, tentatively joins her.

It’s not just sex. It’s so far from ‘just sex’ that he’s never felt more lost, more unsure than in this moment. But as his hand moves down her body, he’s never felt more peace and more devotion.

They still for a moment -- now naked in front of each other. He wants to say something, to comfort her, to comfort himself. A bolt of lightning hits outside. Thunder immediately follows as the wind makes the rain hit violently against the window. Clarke lifts herself up on her toes, presses her body fully against his, and kisses him. He pushes them forward, careful to hold her as they tumble down to the bed. 

He kisses her deeply and then pushes at her sides. Her arms go up and he traces them, guiding her until she's holding onto the frame of her bed and he's moving downwards, kissing her. Her body moves under his as he moves further downward, every now and then glancing back up at her. Only when his lips go to her does he watch her knuckles tighten and her eyes close.

He focuses, his own body tight with desire, and she bucks slightly -- her legs kicking as she pants and then groans. It spurs him so that he's arching his shoulders, pressing down, biting softly. He hears her mutter a sloppy, unintelligible word that could be his name and he pushes even further, licking and biting and giving everything he can until her leg kicks again, her hips move around him and her body collapses as she shouts out her release. 

Victory has never meant anything to him until this moment.

As she settles, he wonders if he should let her breathe, rest, but then she's reaching for him and he's pushing himself up to kiss her. She takes his mouth willingly, violently. Just as he finds himself, she pushes them over so she's on top of him. Much like he did a moment ago, she pushes his own arms into the same position hers were a moment ago.

"I---" he says, protesting. He wants to be inside her. He needs it. 

Clarke holds above him, flipping her hair so that it's a curtain of blonde against his left cheek. "Yes. Yes."

She looks at him, her cheeks flush, her eyes wide. She grabs him, his eyes close, he groans. He feels her hips go up and before he even understands, she sinks onto him.

They move quietly, adjusting themselves to each other, enjoying the feeling of it. His eyes close, her eyes close, their foreheads press against each other as her hands find purchase on his body to push so she can move against him.

He says her name, she says something back, but there's nothing but the feeling between them. They move, try to find a rhythm, miss it for a moment until they click into each other like puzzle pieces. They lock and unite. 

It's not long before a familiar feeling of tightness occurs within him, his body becoming heavy and he knows it's close. He jerks raggedly and she barely keeps up. She's close too. His eyes open, trying to capture the sight, the feeling of it. He wants to remember it. But they're moving too quickly, their bodies too close, and he can't concentrate. 

She lets go first and it sets him over. They hold until the world comes back slowly -- the feel of slick bodies, the smell of sweat and sex, the soft parts of their bodies, the hard. It's intoxicating and somewhere in the back of his head he's not sure this can really be Clarke but then he knows it is. Because it wasn't just sex. It's wasn't. He knows sex. This was ... This just wasn't. He lifts his hand, cups her cheek and she rolls off him, keeping her leg laying against his hip. They look at each other. Her eyes blue like the world he saw from every shift, every spare moment, every time he ever imagined anything more than his stupid little life. "We should---"

"Tomorrow," she cuts him off. 

Her eyes droop. He hears thunder behind them. Her body slackens and within a minute, she's asleep. He leans down, careful to keep them close as he pulls up the blanket. When he's warm under the blanket, he nestles into her and closes his own eyes. He listens to the rain and feels her body against his. He sleeps. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: First Minibreak


	5. Minibreak

_Right Now: Minibreak_

Clarke tells herself it’s no different than any other infatuation. When she cuts her finger on a scalpel because her patient has freckles on his shoulder, like Bellamy does, she thinks only about how much of an idiot she’s being. When someone casually mentions that they thought Bellamy had a fling with Echo, Clarke’s emotions rage in her before Jasper says ‘Bellamy with a grounder? He’d never let one get that close’. Even then, later, Bellamy asks what’s got into her and she just kisses him because she does not want to admit what has. It’s natural. The body forms attachments with bodies that give it pleasure. That’s science. Science explains why what she wants right now, the only thing she wants right now, is to be alone with Bellamy.

After two weeks, nights here and there are not enough. So she hatches a plan. The lab needs some plants that only grow near the river past the old drop ship. She can’t go there alone -- that’s dangerous!

It’s the quickest conversation they’ve ever had.

“I need to do a camping trip to the dropship to get herbs. Do you want to come?” / “When do we leave?”

The next morning they leave with packs on their back, a list from Raven for parts Bellamy needs to collect from the dropship and the understanding they’ll be gone 2-3 days.

The second they’re safe out of distance from the camp, he slings his gun to his back and entwines their fingers, pulling the back of her hand up to his mouth for a kiss. “Great idea,” he says.

The day is bright and sunny and they can hear the bugs and birds among the rustling of the leaves. Their hands stay together and it feels so new and different. Like they’re kids playing at being lovers.

Bellamy has always been a mix of gruff and tender, blunt and soft. She tends to think of him more on the darker side. It’s how she first knew him. It’s how so many think of him. This other side only comes out here and there, and really only with Octavia and her. But what’s she realizing is that it’s his natural side. Because when she looks at him, he’s never more him. The alert eyes, the small grin, the natural athleticism in his movements. It’s just Bellamy.

“I brought my old tent,” he says, oblivious to her reverie.

“The one made out of the parachute?” She says with a wry smile. “You realize we have actual tents now.”

“Yeah,” he says. “But this one checks the box on a fantasy I’ve had for awhile now.”

“Which fantasy was that?”

He looks over at her, his grin wide and flirtatious.

“Did Bellamy Blake want--- ?” She says, completely stunned.

“The princess in his tent?” Bellamy says boldly, smirking. He doesn't answer his own question. 

Clarke can’t quite compute that. And really her only memory of him and his tent is the multiple girls coming out of it. She plays it off. “That’s good. So when I’m damp and freezing the next morning because we don’t have adequate insulation, I’ll be warmed by your longstanding thing for me.”

Bellamy quirks a smile, “for one, you’ll have me for insulation. And as we both know, I’m hot as hell.”

Clarke says nothing to this but Clarke takes a sideways step and Bellamy stumbles. He gives her a sly look.

“Two, thing is a little generous. I had a lot of fantasies in that tent.”

“I remember . . .”

Bellamy lets out a small laugh and she thinks about tripping him again. But then he sweeps his arm around her and tugs her close to kiss the top of her head. 

She pushes him away, “you’re still a pain in the ass.”

They set up camp not far from the dropship near a small river. Bellamy attempts to hunt but is unsuccessful so they heat up what they brought from rations in a pot. Which is helpful because apparently, all they need is a basic fire, a set-up tent, and some sustenance before she’s in his lap and he’s muttering rather dirty things about some of those fantasies he’s had.

It’s the first time they wake up together. Big spoon, little spoon.

“I hope your hunting has improved,” he groans. “Because I’m never going to get feeling back in my arm.”

She turns over and when he doesn’t move his arm, she puts her head back down on it. “I believe you fell asleep wayyy over there. And yet, I’m still exactly where I fell asleep. Funny.”

“I didn’t want you to be cold.”

“So considerate,” she smiles.

“I am nothing but giving.”

They kiss and he tugs her onto him as he lays back. “Let’s not move for awhile,” he mutters.

In the afternoon, Bellamy goes off to hunt alone while Clarke forages, finding some wild onions and mushrooms. It’s the first hot day of spring though and Clarke can’t take her eyes off the water.

She takes off her pants and steps in, savoring the cool water against her legs.

“Aren’t their monsters in that?”

Clarke turns around to see Bellamy holding a large rabbit. “Nice. No, that’s the next river up.”

“Just don’t go too far in.”

Clarke just takes off her shirt, tosses it and moves farther in.

“It’s amazingly cold,” she says, turning back to him.

“I can tell,” he says, his eyes flicking to her chest.

She kicks some water his way as he ducks his head, laughing. He sits with his knife, carefully skinning the rabbit. Idly, she thinks about how he’d be a good surgeon and how comfortable they are like this. It’s like all the threats of the world aren’t there anymore. Instead, it’s just them.

She looks back out at the water and the way the sun is hitting it perfectly. It makes her want to try something so she goes waist deep, kicks her legs up and floats on her back.

Bellamy makes some sort of noise and she hears a splash.

“What---” Clarke says, stumbling back to a standing position.

“You---”

“I was floating,” Clarke says.

“You can swim?”

“I read about it,” she dips her head back. “You just hold your arms out and push your stomach up. See.”

She repeats it and then stands back up only to see that Bellamy is tugging off his pants and his shirt. He spears the rabbit, sets it on the fire and then comes back to the water. “Don’t go in any deeper.”

Clarke shakes her head and lies back again, looking up at the clear blue sky. “I like swimming.”

She feels a tug and then she’s pulled flush against Bellamy’s back.

“I like you not drowning,” he says. After a moment though, he relents, “alright, how do we do this?”

“First you have to let me go.”

“Let’s try it together.”

They try and fail to float together but she quickly realizes Bellamy likes two things: his feet on the ground and his arms around her. “You’re not a natural swimmer,” she jokes.

“I wonder why,” he says, moving his head down to kiss her.

They stay in the water until the sun dips low in the horizon and they need to build the fire up again.

Bellamy turns the rabbit while Clarke cleans the vegetables and puts them in a pot closer to the flame.

“You think we would have ever---” Bellamy shakes his head, “you think we would have been friends on the Ark?”

“Probably not. Unless we had class together.”

“I would have owned you in History.”

“Sciences would have been mine…” She smiles. “I could see us partnering up in Earth Skills.”

“To destroy everyone else? Oh yeah. You remember that hypo on building shelter . . .”

“I think we proved lean-to’s are fundamentally useless our first week here,” she smiles. “But I liked the physics.”

He toys with the fire, “heat transfer and all that?”

Clarke smiles, “so you do know science.”

“I did okay.” He moves up and crosses over to her. “Would have done better if you were around though.”

“Nope,” she says, tugging his shirt. “I would have destroyed you.”

“You would have tried,” he says and kisses her. “Come on, let’s eat.”

The next morning they reluctantly do what they came to do. That evening, they go back in the water and Bellamy tells her stories of all the times they were almost caught with Octavia as they soap their hair and bodies and clothes.

Over dinner, Clarke explains the rules of soccer to Bellamy and why she and her father were so infatuated with it. They go to bed early, laying in each other's arms while Bellamy talks about maybe setting up a game back at the Ark. “Match,” Clarke corrects. “Match,” he says.

In the morning she wakes up warm, again spooned in by Bellamy. It’s just before dawn and it’s still mostly dark out. She can hear Bellamy’s steady breaths behind her and feel the bristles of his leg hair against her skin.

Her thoughts are hazy but as they clear she realizes they did not have sex last night. They just laid together for hours.

Clarke carefully shifts out of his arms only for him to wake anyway. “You ok?” He mutters.

“Just going to restart the fire.”

“Don’t leave the camp,” he says sleepily. “And take the gun.”

She nods, tugs on her clothes and goes out. There’s an early morning chill and she sits close to the embers as she stokes them back to life.  

It shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s not like they got engaged. But . . . But they didn’t have sex last night.

Bellamy can take of himself better than most. He’s a strong fighter, quick-witted and well-trained. But so was Lexa.

Raven and Finn. Jasper and Maya. Octavia and Lincoln.

She tries to think of one couple that hasn’t . . .

She shouldn’t have come. They shouldn’t have done this. Because what if . . . Because it’s inevitable. And she can’t do that again.

It’s then it occurs to her that she hasn’t checked survey in four days. That’s all of Europe and Northern Africa. The remaining sites. How could she have---?

Clarke turns back and starts to clean up and pack what she can.

A little while later, Bellamy comes out. “How are you up right now?”

“We should head out if we want to be back before nightfall.”

Bellamy gives her a look and then his eyes take in the clean camp site, “alright.”

They’re quiet, speaking only to get things done, though she knows Bellamy’s watching her.

“We going to talk about it?” He says just after they head out.

“Just ready to get back,” she says. “I need to check survey.”

The way his face falls breaks her heart a bit but then his expression goes neutral. “Let’s huff it then.”

He picks up his pace and she follows, enjoying the way her muscles pump as she keeps up with him. A little while later she means to jokingly complain that his legs are too long but he must take it literally because he snaps back “you’re the one who wants to get back.”

She goes silent. They don’t even kiss at the edge of the treeline. When they do finally part, he lingers, his head down. “Was it . . . did . . . did you not have fun?”

“I did,” she says. “I just . . .”

“Needed to get back. Yeah.” He sighs. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Official?


	6. Official?

_Official?_

Bellamy lays in Clarke’s warm bed, listening to her move around the tiny kitchen a room away. It’s one of those moments that he normally attempts to catalog for use when he’s next sleeping outside, alone, on cold earth in near-freezing temperatures. Instead, he can’t stop thinking about that damn pot of white flowers on her bedside table and how he wants to throw them out the window.

He glances over at their hideous little petals and then rolls onto his back and flops an arm over his eyes with a groan. Clarke is basically chancellor. She’s respected. She’s smart. She’s a great leader. Not only that, she’s gorgeous. He gets it. He really does. People want to know her. People want her. He’s totally fine that both men and women want her, and that she wants both women and men. The way he sees it, as long as he’s the one in her bed every night, who cares. Besides, it’s not like he doesn’t have offers of his own . . .

It’s also fine that she makes it more than clear they’re not telling anyone about their new little arrangement. Yeah, it’s a little annoying. They’ve always been tactile with each other. He likes it. There’s a reassurance to it that comforts him. Octavia said something once about Lincoln being her home that he never understood but now . . . It doesn’t matter. As long as he’s the one in her bed every night, who cares . .

It's even fine when she goes all distant. Like after the camping trip.  Because two days later they were back. See, fine. Bed every night. Whatever.

Bellamy shakes his head, his eyes drifting over to the yellow centers of each flower. It’d be so easy to set the whole thing on fire.

The thing is he knows Clarke can do casual, and he definitely can, he just didn’t think _they_ could do casual. That’s the problem. Not that people want her, not that they’re keeping it quiet, not that sometimes she’s as distant as Mars but that . . that all of that can come in here, into this room, into this bed, and look all sweet and innocent but really be harbingers of doom. Like pomegranate seeds. You think they’re sweet little nothings, then you’re confined to hell six months out of the year, and the earth gets winter.

All sense of coziness and comfort gone, he swings his legs over and sits up, coming in striking distance of the flowers.

“Screw it,” he says. He picks up the flowers and drops them in a waste bin as he heads out to meet her in the kitchen.

“Roan sent a messenger---” Clarke says as he enters the kitchen. In the five weeks or so of their new arrangement, he’s come to realize Clarke never really shuts off. Don’t get him wrong, she’s fiery and passionate, and he’s more than pleased with what he has, but if he’s looking for someone to greet him with a kiss and cheery good morning, it isn’t her.

“Octavia?” Bellamy says, just to be sure, though he’s positive Clarke would have lead with that. Clarke and Octavia are close. Sometimes Bellamy thinks that Clarke is one of the few people Octavia listens to at all. Clarke, as well. He’s pretty sure Octavia is right up there with Raven in terms of Clarke’s estimation. He'd never admit it out loud but it's one of the reasons he ---- he stops the thought.

“I wish,” Clarke says. “Apparently some of the clans don’t want to respect Lexa’s truce. He says I go to Polis or they will no longer accept the 13th clan.”

“Typical Grounders,” Bellamy says, rifling through her small stacks of rations in search of something to eat. He decides on an apple and a package of nuts. “Are you going to go?”

“I don’t think I have a choice. Do you?”

“It could be a trap . . .”

“Kane would have told us. Or Octavia.” Clarke tilts her head, “Abby has the walkie. I’ll get on with him before I decide.”

Bellamy nods, sitting at the table across from her. It’s littered with readouts and maps of places he’s only ever seen in old books.

“Nikola said there was something unusual around this area,” Clarke says, gesturing towards where he knows Egypt to be. “Raven is going to check it out.”

Bellamy watches her for a moment, but he can’t keep his focus on the reports, Polis or even Octavia. It’s all flowers. “What’s with Garnet?”

Clarke looks at him oddly, “machine engineering Garnet?”

“Yes, machine-engineering, flower-giving Garnet.”

Clarke smiles, “the daisies?”

“The things in your room. Next to your bed.” Bellamy says. “I thought you hated flowers.”

“I don’t hate flowers.”

“So what’s the deal?”

“What deal?”

“Garnet’s wanted you since the drop ship,” Bellamy says flatly. “Now helping you out---”

“-- building me a radiation detector,” Clarke adds a little dryly.

“And giving you flowers.”

Clarke studies him for a moment, and then a look of disbelief crosses her features, “are you -- are you jealous?”

For some reason, this angers him even though he knows he is. Not that he’s going to admit that. Instead, he summons up every moment of his life, and there were way too many when he’s had to play it cool and does so. “Just sex, right?”

“You think I’m having sex with Garnet---” Clarke stands up.

“That’s not---”

She walks straight into his space, her usual ‘I’m really mad at you’ move. “Have you suffered some sort of head trauma in the past 24 hours? Because you’ve been pretty good in the past few years of keeping asshat Bellamy in check.”

Okay, now he’s angry. He stands up, towering over her. “I wasn’t talking about Garnet. I was talking about us. This. It’s just sex, right?”

Immediately Clarke flinches, the anger goes away.“It’s---”

There she goes. There’s his Clarke. When it comes to them, it’s always been two steps forward, three steps back. It all but confirms what the most-likely-poisonous flowers said.

He steps past her. This is what it’s always going to be. He’s always going to be the one who is more into her. Which is really scaring him because he’s starting to think she may be the only girl he’s ever really--- he practically yells at himself:  _shut those thoughts down, Bellamy. Shut. Them. Down._

“Bellamy,” she says, and it sounds so much like an apology it makes him sick.

“I’m done with casual,” he says. Because he’s not going to lie to himself. He’s not going to freeze up or pretend. She can. “You’re either with me, or you’re not Clarke. Figure it out and let me know.”

He goes over and grabs his coat as he heads to the door. 

“I threw the flowers away.”

Bellamy opens the door and walks out into the bright light of the morning. After a safe distance, it hits him: He just issued an ultimatum to a girl you don't issue ultimatums too. He pauses, looking back. He could lose her. Over a pot of little white flowers. Daisies.

"You fucking moron," he mutters to himself. "What the hell did you just do?"

He kicks the dirt, chastises himself again and walks off. 

 

* * *

 There are a series of impossible-to-predict-events which make it so he doesn’t see her all day. But she’s in pretty much every thought. When they find a boar near the camp, and they think only about ensuring the safety of the residents, he thinks about it getting into med lab. In the hunt, he thinks about how they terrify her. When it’s caught and killed, and he comes back to camp, it’s lunch, and he expects to see her at mess. She’s not so she misses the mini-celebration at the sight of the kill. He won't lie to himself -- he was counting on that to eclipse this morning. 

After that, he finds out one of the cadets has inadvertently logged all the inventory wrong. Which means that either 17 guns were misclassified or they were stolen. Again, he thinks about Clarke. She’s notoriously picky about medical inventory. This is the sort of mistake that would drive her up the wall. He wants nothing more than to walk across the camp to med lab and tell her. To just take five minutes with her.

He’s never really thought about how much time they spend together. When he considers it, he realizes they’re practically inseparable. "Fucking moron," he mutters to himself for the thirteenth time that day.

"That's Mr. Fucking Moron, thank you," Jasper says.

"I wasn't---" Bellamy groans. "Nevermind."

He walks up the camp to see if the guns are near the outer wall and wonders if Clarke has even thought about him today. Or if she’ll just show up and rationalize the situation right out of relevance. As he hits the wall, he realizes that if he does, he won’t stop her. Because he’s not sure he can be without Clarke. He doesn't care that makes him a coward. He's perfectly fine being a coward if he's the one in her bed every night. 

They account for all the guns just as he hears Octavia is on the walkie. He thinks he’ll see Clarke there, but instead it’s Abby, chatting softly and intimately with Kane.

She greets him with a wide smile and a conspiratorial look on her face. When he takes the seat, she stands and squeezes his shoulder.

“Hang in there, kiddo,” she says.

Bellamy takes the walkie, not asking what she means. He knows what she means. She means Abby is now the third person to know about Clarke and him. _Hopefully not the last_ , a voice inside him says. But he ignores it when he hears “Bell?” through the static.

When he finishes and crosses back to the bunker, Miller is there. “Clarke was here. She asked if you could go to hers.”

“I’ll go in the morning,” Bellamy says.

Octavia had sounded different, almost foreign. Not just that but there were a few times when he heard a voice that sounded like his mother’s -- not the loving voice she saved for them -- but the cold and official voice she saved for the authorities.

He knew how Lincoln’s death had cut Octavia; he also knew that Octavia had become a fierce warrior in her own right --- and he had understood why she had killed Pike --- but he thought she was still Octavia. Tonight though, he's not so sure. 

“Go to Clarke’s,” Miller says.

Bellamy won’t. Because he’s not sure he can handle Clarke pushing him away after hearing his sister like that. There’s only so much he can lose in one day. Besides, he thinks maybe Clarke will just forget what he said if he has another day.

“She had a look,” Miller says. “Go.”

A look. Bellamy swallows.“Fine.”

“Great, I’ll finish inventory.”

There’s a beat of silence between them as Bellamy watches Miller’s usual stoic expression slowly become a sly smile.

“What?”

“I thought it was some random. But Clarke? About time.”

“It’s not---” It’d be laughable if he weren’t so terrified. “It’s not what you think.”

“Right.”

Bellamy crosses the camp, moving distractedly through the people who are enjoying the warm night air. A few times he hears his name but he ignores it.

Clarke has one of the nicer, more centrally located cabins. It’s also one of the more popular hang-out spots which is why he doesn’t knock before he opens the door.

A decision he immediately regrets when he sees that not only is Clarke pacing, she looks --- well, she looks put together. Her hair is clean, brushed down, the sides pulled back in the way she used to wear it. She wears a clean mint-green waffle knit and jeans.

Bellamy freezes, irked by how unruffled she looks. He spent the day in misery. Clarke apparently spent the day meticulously prepping herself to remind him how much of an idiot he was about even threatening this.

“Come in,” She says, her voice prim.

“I’m good here.” Something akin to panic flares in his chest. 

Clarke glances down, nodding. “Alright . . .” She looks at him, her eyes wide. He knows the expression. It’s her unsure look, and he knows whatever coming is big. Like, break your heart big. Like horrible, unfair choice big. He hates this look.

He abruptly moves forward, shutting the door, forgetting why he hadn’t wanted to keep it open a moment ago. All that matter is the look and ending any conversation that could have that look. He walks over and takes her hand, tugging her to the couch. “Clarke, it’s not a big deal -- what I said--- you don’t have to---”

Clarke presses a hand to his chest. “I do though, Bellamy,” Clarke says. “I have to believe in more.”

More? He gives her a look and adjusts himself on the couch next to her so he can look at her. “What?”

The unsure looks come back, and he swallows.

“It’s just, it’s hard not to focus.” Clarke looks down, “There is always something. Even now, Nikola can’t reconcile those irregular reports, Raven even thinks it could be, well she wants to be sure and Kane says Roan is for real and if we lose the truce, then---”

“This is what you want to talk about?"

"No." She says, "sorry." He watches as she attempts to settle herself. “I’ve never imagined what my life would be if . . . the way that Raven wants to start a school in Sinclair’s name to teach kids engineering, or how my Mom and Kane want to build a cabin by that pond . . . I’ve never . . .” Clarke breathes, “I’ve never thought about _more_.”

He nods, suddenly getting it. Because he has. It’s two cabins not that far from Kane and Abby’s actually. One for Octavia. One for them. In this glade that’s pretty well protected from the North wind and has a good sight-line for protection. But she hasn’t. Not with him. “Yeah,” he says faintly, squeezing her hand in comfort. He can handle this. She doesn’t need to worry about him. They’ll just have to figure out some way to salvage the friendship. Because he will absolutely not lose that, no matter what vice he has to put his heart in. “I get it, Clarke, I do. I’m not---”

“But if I had Bellamy, you’d be there,” she says in a rush, leaning in. “You’d always be there.”

Bellamy stills, his eyes darting to hers. The blue is almost gray in the dim light of the living room, and he can see the tiniest dark sparkle of tears at the corners.

“So maybe,” she says, her voice a little shaky. “Maybe you take the lead on this, alright? And know I’m right there with you? I’m just a little--”

He doesn’t let her say it. Because he is too. They all are, just in different ways. He kisses her. It’s chaste, sweet, the sort of kiss that tastes familiar and warm and makes you feel cherished. He hopes she does.

When they pull apart, Clarke sniffles a little bit, rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes.

“I thought you were---” Bellamy huffs a laugh. “Nevermind.”

Clarke just smiles at him, “Abby and Raven know, by the way. I had to tell them. They think I’m an idiot.”

Bellamy wisely says nothing. “Miller too.”

Clarke nods, “probably Kane. What about Octavia?”

Bellamy’s face falls, “I was going to say something but she--- I don’t know Clarke, she’s different.”

Clarke nods, “it hasn’t been that long since Lincoln . . .”

“I’m worried about her.”

“We’ll go to Polis together then. I was going to ask you anyway.”

“If you were going, I was going,” he says dismissively. “But yeah, I think . . . I think I might try and talk her into coming back with us.”

Clarke nods, “okay. I’ll help.”

He looks over at her, her now clear eyes, her slightly flushed cheeks and that sense of determination and purpose radiating off her in the background. Clarke’s his. Officially. It’s . . . he smiles and stands up, “come on.”

“Where? To my . . . bed?”

“Definitely on the agenda,” Bellamy smirks as he pulls her up. He takes her hand and doesn’t let go. “But later. I have two things I want to do.”

“Miller told me about the inventory---”

“Jasper made some sort of concoction. We’re getting a drink,” he says.

Clarke smiles widely, “we can definitely do that. And the second?”

“We’re going to clear up your status with Garnet.”

“Really?” Clarke says. “Tell me you didn’t seriously--”

“You’re my girlfriend, Clarke,” he says, and the term is everything _._ “You know how long I’ve waited for this? I get to have as much fun with it as possible.”

He tugs her to the door. She follows, “it's completely unnecessary to talk with Garnet. We're not doing that."

“We are. You put me in charge, Princess,” he says with a smile. “This is what you get.”

Clarke comes up to him, casually hip checking him as they go out the door and into the summer evening. “Alright. Then I'll just have to think of some way to distract you."

She smiles up at him, he down at her. Something she said plays back through his head as he watches the breeze pick up a few errant strands of blonde hair and whip them across her face and back.  More. That’s what this is, he thinks. This is more. 

His bliss lasts all of three seconds because just outside is Raven and her face says it all.

"We need to talk. Now."

Clarke immediately steps away from him but Bellamy grabs her hand, squeezing it. "Let's go."

They walk on. He waits for Clarke to take his hand, to shift so they're clasping each other but her eyes are focused straight ahead and her hand is limp in his. He watches her and decides then and there he's not losing her. He doesn't care what Raven says. Or what foolish thing Clarke decides next. He's not losing her. He's not losing this. Because before all of this, Clarke was ready. Clarke wanted more . . . with him. So that's what she's going to get. Bring it on, he thinks. Because he'll fight the whole damn world to keep this. He just really, really hopes he doesn't have to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: First Fight.


End file.
